Chapter 6
MICHAEL
Michael had been at Uncle George's desk since half past six, and he had read the same paragraph of the third mortgage agreement four times without taking in a single word.
He set the page down, sighing resignedly, as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
It was no good. His mind was not on the mortgage at all.
Instead, it kept drifting back to the incident in the corridor with Maggie yesterday evening.
He could still clearly picture it. The impact.
The laundry basket flying through the air.
Maggie’s startled little gasp right before she landed in his arms, pulled tightly against his chest. So tight he could feel her heart pounding against his.
And the most absurd part was that even eighteen hours later, his arms still tingled with the memory of holding her. His breath still caught when he remembered the way her wide, startled eyes had looked up at him.
Michael let out a long, ragged breath and rubbed a hand over his face.
“You are sixty years old, not a teenage boy,” he muttered through gritted teeth to the empty office. “This is ridiculous.”
Yet even as he said the words, a different memory slipped through anyway. The flash of a bonfire on a warm summer’s night came back to him, along with the distant sound of music and the gentle rhythm of the sea washing onto the shore.
Michael shut the thought down hard as the guilt quietly seeped in, the way it always did.
He had loved Evelyn deeply and wholeheartedly for nearly thirty years.
She’d been his best friend, his partner, the woman who had stood beside him through every challenge life had thrown at them.
Losing her three years ago to a sudden heart attack had left a hole in his heart and in his life that nothing had been able to fill.
Three years did not seem long enough to have moved on from a lifetime shared with someone.
And yet here he was. One silly accidental meeting had reminded him, in no uncertain emotional terms, of the crush he’d had when he was a teenager.
A crush he’d brutally shut down for very good reasons.
Michael glanced at his wristwatch. Seven thirty-five.
He still had an hour and fifty-five minutes before breakfast with Maggie at the Bay Café.
Plenty of time, he told himself, to push everything personal aside and focus on what mattered.
He was an attorney, after all. For more than thirty years, he’d moved easily between family law, high-stakes corporate litigation, and even the occasional complex criminal case.
He had built a reputation as a man who could walk into any boardroom and handle hostile takeovers with calm precision.
He knew how to separate feelings from facts.
Yet this morning, the wall he had kept so carefully in place for decades felt dangerously thin.
Michael picked up the mortgage agreement again and tried to force himself to read.
He managed three full sentences before his mind drifted back to Maggie’s wide eyes looking up at him in the hallway.
With a quiet sigh of frustration, he set the page down and vigorously rubbed his hands over his face.
“This is ridiculous,” he gritted out, giving up.
He stood and grabbed his keys. If he could not concentrate, then he would have a leisurely drive around the bay and then stroll through the small Sweet Blossom Bay Mall.
He needed some new ties and socks. That would be a better use of his time than trying to get yesterday’s collision with Maggie out of his mind.
After lingering in the stores for as long as he could, Michael arrived at the Bay Café fifteen minutes early.
The Bay Café had been a part of Sweet Blossom Bay for as long as he could remember.
The last owner was retiring and had no children to pass it down to, so he had no other choice but to sell it.
Owen had bought it just before the summer, and it was clear the man loved it.
It was obvious by the way he’d upgraded the cafe while keeping its authentic Sweet Blossom Bay charm.
The morning light came in warm through the big front windows.
The tables were old reclaimed wood, sanded smooth.
There was a chalkboard behind the counter with the day's specials written in neat handwriting, and the whole place smelled of fresh coffee, warm pastry, and the sea air drifting in through the propped-open front door.
Michael chose a table in the back corner, by the window, where they'd have a little privacy. He ordered a coffee to settle himself and tried to look like a man who was not watching the door. Only he was watching the door.
At twenty-eight minutes past nine, Maggie walked in, and Michael's heart did the exact thing he'd spent all morning telling it not to do—it gave a jolt and woke up the images he’d just managed to suppress. He forced all thoughts from his head as he watched her, almost entranced.
Maggie had a thick file folder tucked under her arm.
She wore a soft blue cotton shirt, her hair loosely flowing around her shoulders.
The darker blue tailored pants with a gold clasp at the waist encased her long legs, which flowed around her matching blue stiletto pumps.
The manager greeted her at the door, and a smile bloomed over her lips as she turned to scan the room, finding Michael and giving him a wave.
The manager turned to look where she was waving, nodded, and led her toward him.
As she walked his way Michael swallowed, and for one helpless second Michael was eighteen again, staring at the girl he’d thought was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
It was in that moment that Michael knew there were a lot more reasons for coming home that he cared to admit.
He’d always had feelings for Maggie that he’d portrayed as protective, big brotherly feelings for his sister’s life-long best friend.
But they were a lot more than that, and he'd buried them deep because she was practically family and his younger sister’s, Linda’s, best friend.
Not to mention the huge complication of her being taken in by his mother when Maggie had lost both her parents.
There was never a future for them, and Michael had to remind himself that while they were a lot older, nothing else had changed.
Maggie was still his sister’s best friend and part of the Heart’s extended family.
He automatically pushed himself to his feet as she neared the table, a smile warming his eyes as she stopped in front of him. The manager put two menus on the table and told them their server would be with them soon, but Michael didn’t even hear him. His eyes were locked onto Maggie's.
"Hello, Maggie," Michael greeted her warmly.
"Good morning, Michael," Maggie answered.
There was a small, awkward beat where neither of them quite knew what to do, as they stood staring at each other before Michael leaned in to hug her.
Only Maggie had also decided to take the initiative, and she leaned in at the same moment.
There was a clumsy hug, and somehow he ended up pressing a kiss to her cheek as her arms encircled his torso, her folder tumbling to the ground unnoticed.
Her warm body pressed against his, and as Michael lifted his lips from her cheek, they both froze in a tangle of clumsy hugs and sloppy cheek kisses.
They glanced at each other in stunned fascination while the cafe blurred around them.
He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, her breath hitching.
"Morning," the waiter said cheerfully, appearing at the table with two menus.
Michael stepped back so fast he nearly knocked his chair over, while Maggie ducked to pick up her folder, catching her head on the side of the table, making it jolt as she came up.
“Ow!” Maggie hissed, grabbing her head as she straightened.
“Are you okay?” Michael lurched forward, knocking the small vase on the table over.
The restaurant seemed to pause as a quiet hush fell over it, and all heads turned toward the commotion. For a brief few seconds, they were the center of attention until their server jumped in to clean up the mess, and the other diners turned away.
“Ooops,” the waiter said, calmly with a warm smile. “Let me get this cleaned up. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” She dashed off.
“Well, that was rather…” Maggie made a joke, her cheeks flushed with heat. “Elegantly clumsy and dreadfully awkward.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael found himself apologizing. “Guess I really am still a klutz.”
“No!” Maggie laughed softly. “This wasn’t just you.” She rubbed her head.
“Are you sure your head’s okay?” Michael asked worriedly.
“It’s just a bump,” Maggie assured him as the server came back and cleaned up the mess.
“There you go,” the server said brightly. “As good as new.”
They slid into their seats, and she took their drink order. “I’ll get these and come back for your breakfast order.”
Maggie put her folder on the table and slid it toward Michael. “This is everything I have on my divorce.”
Before he could answer, the server returned with their coffee, and they ordered a light breakfast: fruit, toast, and eggs. Once they’d ordered, the waiter took the menus and left.
"Let me take a look," Michael said, thankful for the distraction as he opened the folder, and his eyebrows went up.
It was immaculately kept. Every document was labeled.
Every section was tabbed and dated. There were printed copies of Kevin's emails, arranged chronologically, each annotated in Maggie's neat handwriting.
There were screenshots of text messages, printed and filed.
There was a complete record of every hearing, every motion her own attorney had filed, every invoice she'd paid, and what it had achieved, which in most cases appeared to be nothing at all.